100 Days With Mr Arrogant
by EterNite
Summary: ONESHOT! AU! When Tom Riddle stumbles upon the small town of Landings, and it's resident muggle Harry Potter, will he be able to survive? Worse, will he be able to survive as the slave of aforementioned Harry Potter? SLASH HPLV HPTR LVHP TRHP etc


Hello! This is a random oneshot that I thought of on a whim.

**100 Days With Mr. Arrogant**

Tom Riddle had taken to exploring. It was an escape, he had to admit, from the prying eyes of his former classmates. When he had not found his soul mate in his time at Hogwarts, he had gained a slew of admirers, each vying for his attention. It was assumed that his soul mate was a muggle, but Tom knew better. It would be impossible for someone as powerful as himself to have a muggle for a mate.

In his quest for knowledge, Tom had stumbled across a certain name many times. Ulidge Stromm was supposedly in possession of Salazar Slytherin's personal texts, containing many lost dark arts spells. It was this that led him to the man's doorstep, in a mansion on the outskirts of the town of Landings.

Tom couldn't help the slight sneer that crossed his face. After associating with the wealthy pureblood elitists of Slytherin house for seven years, the "mansion" seemed absolutely decrepit. Raising an aristocratic hand, he rapped on the door twice and waited for it to open.

"May I help you?" Tom turned around. A young man of about seventeen stood behind him, balancing two large paper bags in his arms.

"I'm here to see Master Stromm." he replied smoothly, taking in the boy's ragged clothing and dirty face.

The boy gave him an unreadable look, before slipping past him to open the door. Shifting both bags to one arm, he dug in his pockets for the key, nearly losing one of the bags in the process. As the door creaked open, the boy gestured for Tom to enter.

The bags of what Tom assumed to be groceries went on the counter and promptly fell over, spilling out onto the floor. The boy gave the bags a withering glare as he gestured for Tom to sit on a dusty leather chair.

Tom eyeballed the chair, hardly daring to imagine the number of bacteria which had made themselves home on its surface. Perching himself delicately on the edge, Tom watched the boy run off, hopefully to retrieve Stromm.

* * *

By the time the boy came back into the room, Tom had given up on the hopes of staying clean and was lounging in the chair, a conjured cup of coffee in hand. The boy had apparently gone to tidy himself up, for the ragged clothes had become silk, the long unkempt hair was now tied back with a ribbon—emerald green, Tom noted—and the boy's pale skin was visible, his emerald green eyes a perfect match to the ribbon in his hair.

"I'm sorry to make you wait." He started.

"It's nothing." Tom responded, "May I speak with Master Stromm now?" The boy looked down guiltily.

"Mr. Stromm died about a year ago."

Tom was enraged. He had sat in the dusty chair, waited for the boy, and even been polite about it, only to find out that Stromm was dead? He gave the boy his meanest glare, red eyes glowing like fiery embers.

The boy remained unfazed.

"Mr. Stromm was in possession of a series of books, written in Parseltongue. Do you know who has them now?"

"Salazar Sytherin's manuscripts?" Tom nodded. "I am currently in possession of Mr. Stromm's entire private library, including those books." Tom smiled slightly, internally nearly dancing in glee. It was time to turn on the charm.

"I don't believe I got your name?" Tom asked with his 'pleasant' smile. The boy only looked amused.

"I am known as Harry Potter." Was that a hint of laughter in his voice?

"Well, Harry Potter, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Get down to business." Yes, definitely a hint of laughter.

"Very well." Tom shot him another charming smile. "My name is Tom Riddle, and I am the only living Parselmouth. Salazar Slytherin's texts are written in Parseltongue, and would be useless to you. On the other hand, I have been looking for these manuscripts for quite a while, and would put them to good use. This is why I propose that you sell these manuscripts to me."

"Sell?" Harry responded.

"Yes, sell. I would not expect you to give away something of yours without... compensation." Tom smiled. The books were as good as his.

"You'll have to do better than that, I'm afraid." Harry responded with an evil grin.

Tom was speechless.

"In one hundred days, on Christmas Eve, I will give the manuscripts to you..."

Tom relaxed. He had thought it would be much harder...

"_If_ you work hard, as my own personal slave."

For the first time in over ten years, Tom felt like he was going to cry.

* * *

After one meal, Harry declared that Tom was forbidden to cook. Tom swallowed his embarrassment and noted that it was one less thing that he had to do, which was good. After a week, Harry praised Tom on his cleaning, as the whole mansion was dusted and polished. After a loose floorboard sent Tom and Harry crashing into a part of the mansion that Harry had never seen before, Tom was exhausted.

"Tom? I can't see anything!" Harry declared. Tom rolled his eyes. For the genius that had forced him into enslavement, Harry could be a bit slow.

"Are you a wizard or not?" He called, casting a quiet lumos with his own wand and pointing it directly in Harry's face.

"Not." The emerald of Harry's eyes gained an eerie glow under the light of Tom's wand, right before it fell from his hands.

"You're.. a muggle?" Harry smiled forlornly.

"A muggle? I'm a normal. I was born with no magic whatsoever, I suppose." He picked up the wand, which promptly went out.

"But you knew about Slytherin's manuscript. You knew about... _magic._" It was not an accusation, more of a curious question.

"Everybody does here. In this town."

"Why?"

"It's always been this way. The wizards here... they don't hide from us." Tom frowned at the wording. He didn't _hide_ from anyone.

"I don't believe it. You can't be a muggle." Tom lit his wand once again, in time to see the pain in Harry's eyes.

"Believe what you want." Harry walked ahead, a little faster than before. Tom felt a strange pain in his heart as he raced to catch up.

3 AM found Tom climbing into his bed at last, having said no more words to Harry about the incident. At the other end of the hallway, Harry sat alone in his study, a pained smile on his face and tears threatening to spill.

* * *

"Good morning Tom!" Aforementioned slave groaned as Harry ripped the covers off him. Opening his tired eyes, he swore to kill his "master" as he saw the moon hanging above.

"What time is it?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"5 AM. The perfect time to go shopping!" With a hefty sigh, Tom rolled out of the bed, landing with a soft "thump" on the floor.

The sun was almost completely up, Tom noted with very little interest. They had been walking for over an hour and had yet to arrive at their destination.

"So, Harry, why did you decide to wake me mere hours after I had gone to bed?" Harry turned to face him, grinning from ear to ear.

"We're going into town to get some more groceries. I didn't expect to be buying food for two people when I last went shopping. We're already almost out of supplies."

"Did it have to be today?" Tom snapped, earning himself a whack on the head from Harry.

"For awhile now you've seemed confused by the fact that I'm a _normal_, so I'm bringing you into town to show you what it's like." Tom wished desperately that he would learn to keep his mouth shut.

The first shop they visited was a wizarding shop. Tom had followed Harry into what seemed to be an apothecary, a small shop which couldn't compare to those in Diagon Alley. A few ingredients were lined against the walls, and an old radio sat on top of the counter, tuned to the wizarding news.

_"Another attack has hit, this time at the home of Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. The man was out of the home at the time, but his wife has been admitted to Saint Mungos for treatment. She is expected to survive. The attackers are rumored to be a "new order" group known as the Death Eaters. We have not determined whether there is any leader to date, but are expecting to have more information soon."_

"I hope they never find out about this town..." Harry remarked, listening to the broadcast.

"What?" As Tom spoke, an elderly man appeared behind the counter.

"Those 'Death Eaters'. They would surely think that a place where wizards and normals mix was wrong." Harry responded.

"Another attack?" The apothecary asked. Harry nodded.

"On an auror this time. It seems like the group is growing pretty fast. That's the second attack this month." The old man nodded somberly.

"Soon, a town like ours won't be able to exist. Times are changing, Harry, and they're changing fast." Tom wondered what the man was trying to imply, but Harry seemed to understand it well enough.

"Yes." Harry replied, a tired smile coming to his face. "If you don't mind me changing the subject, do you have my potion?"

* * *

It was Christmas Eve. Tom fingered the gift he had gotten Harry as he waited for the other to arrive. Harry had left early that morning, and it was already close to 11 PM.

"Tom?" Harry called from the doorway, hanging his wet coat on the stand. Tom ran over, wrapping Harry in a large blanket and guiding him to the sofa. Harry gave him a strange look, causing him to blush—something that had been happening far too much around Harry.

"You're wet. If you don't stay warm, you'll get a cold." Tom scolded. Harry burst out laughing.

"It doesn't work to say that when your face is so red!" He exclaimed, giggling. Tom tried to hold in his laughter, but then Harry fell off the couch. He couldn't help it.

Tom found himself on the floor, his face only inches away from Harry's. Everything froze.

"Tom, you won't leave me... will you?" Harry whispered.

"Never." Tom responded, no doubt in his mind.

"Good." Harry found himself drawing closer and closer to Tom, his hand resting on Tom's elbow. Just as their noses touched, the clock tolled midnight.

"Merry Christmas" Harry whispered, just as their lips touched. A quick moment that seemed to last forever, then...

Tom yanked himself away, fleeing upstairs. He ran to his room, locking the door. It was impossible. There was no way that his soul mate could be a mere muggle. He wasn't in love... right?

Harry rolled up the "slave release form" and slipped it into the silver ring which he had bought Tom for Christmas. With a somber smile, he took Slytherin's manuscripts and placed them directly outside Tom's door, with the ring on top. Confident in his love, Harry retired to his own room. Tom would do what his heart told him was right; he was sure of it.

The next morning, Harry woke to find a paper rolled up outside of his own door, tied with a decorated silk ribbon. He unrolled the letter, his eyes scanning the paper.

_Dear Harry,_

_I lied._

_-Tom._

Harry fell to the floor and cried. Tom had come one day, and left another. Nobody had ever known who he was, but Harry had still loved him. As Harry's tears fell, so did each crystal snowflake fall over the town.

The old mansion soon became decrepit once again. Harry Potter was lost in the memories of the townsfolk, but every Christmas, snow fell over the town of Landings, and every Christmas, an angel could be seen in the mansion's window, crying.

* * *

Sorry!!!

There will be a sequel! :)

Reviews feed me :OOOO


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